


The Last to Know

by Thimblerig



Series: What Is This Thing..? [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Crossdressing, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6299206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Athos fails to be entirely prepared for every eventuality, but does his best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last to Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sigmund](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigmund/gifts).



> This doesn't really fit into the main "Never A Love Story" but it was fun to write. For Sigmund, who asked about Athos. 
> 
> Takes place after Never.

The rue de Fossoyeurs was unusually quiet, Athos thought, walking up to the Bonacieux residence on a day when the light fell like honey. The front door of the house was barred and no-one answered his knock, but there was a flurry of movement in the second-floor window, a flailing of limbs behind a curtain that looked... alarming.

Athos ducked to the back of the house, found Madame Bonacieux's spare key behind a loose red brick, and let himself in. He prowled down the hall, hands loose and ready to draw weapons, and heard through the walls d'Artagnan's indignant squawk: "It's my day off!"

There was an answer in a familiar tenor register, "My friend, when you join the regiment you'll realise the only true day off is one where they _cannot find you._ "

Porthos' bass rumble added, "Out of town is good."

A woman's shoe rested athwart the steps, and a dainty woman's stocking was hanging from one of the arms of Madame Bonacieux's copper candelabra. Ah. D'Artagnan had been using the time to invite a friend over, so to speak. Energetic youths, wild oats: Athos was familiar with that story. Even so, he was disappointed on Madame Bonacieux's behalf. He slipped up the stairs on quiet feet to help the others roust the boy.

In d'Artagnan's quarters there was chaos that stopped as soon as Athos entered. Aramis, fingers caught in the strings of a pair of stays, froze. Porthos, lifting a battered leather jerkin from a chair, put on a sheepish smile. D'Artagnan, wearing only a skirt in the bright clear colours Madame Bonacieux favoured and the aforementioned stays, hair twisted up in pins, said: "Uh."

Athos' eyes went to d'Artagnan's long, tanned face, _tick_ , then to Aramis, _tick_ , and then to Porthos, _tick_. His eyes dropped to where a small brown breast popped out of the white stays, _tick_ , then back up to d'Artagnan's face.

"We muster in ten minutes," he said. "At the Louvre. Gentlemen."

As he walked down the stairs, he heard Aramis say, "I think that could have gone a lot worse..."

 

 

**

 

 

The guard duty they had been rousted so unceremoniously out for proved to be a highly ceremonious affair, Musketeers in their distinctive blue capes dotted around the gardens of the Louvre while the diplomatic party from England, a week early, were received with a show of affability. As the unofficial squad leader Athos had some influence over who was posted where and he used it, ruthlessly. D'Artagnan, set beside him in the array, stood at attention with a taciturn reserve that Athos could only wish the youth displayed more often on these occasions.

After half an hour, Athos broke the silence. "That night in the leaves," he said. "It was not all a dream."

D'Artagnan nodded, eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Did I -" he cut himself off. "You would tell me if I had been disrespectful."

"It's fine," said d'Artagnan, though an ugly blotch of red crept up her cheeks. "You snore terribly."

"So Aramis and Porthos tell me." The silence stretched out like an overspun thread.

"There are worse places to live than a seamstress' house," Athos said eventually. "I imagine it is a help finding... support garments and so forth."

"Mm," said d'Artagnan, still looking straight ahead.

"Madame Bonacieux is a woman of great sense, I have found."

"I don't think I could have pulled it off without her."

"And of course, when you are a little older, she can help with the whiskers. Very deft with the glue, is Madame Bonacieux."

"Mm."

Athos continued, "Though in the end, I found it more efficient to spring for a full chin prosthesis."

"A... full chin prosthesis?" Beside him, d'Artagnan's black eyebrows quirked, one up, one down."

"From the theatrical supply boutique in the rue de la Pompe," clarified Athos blandly. "They keep their prices high, but the skill of the craftsmen is ultimately well worth it."

D'Artagnan twitched like a nervous colt, that is, _filly_.

"Though every time I buy a replacement, I have to wonder, is today the day I could really do it? Could I pull off a cleft chin? Do I have the eyes for dimples?"

D'Artagnan finally looked at him. Athos, quite against his will, found the corner of his mouth curling up into a smirk.

"You're a right prick, Athos."

"I am a magnificent prick," he answered serenely.

"So we're good?"

"Mm."

**Author's Note:**

> Sproing!


End file.
